


insomniac

by casualbird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sexual Fantasy, mild spoilers through ch. 16, you can read ashe as trans or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22234585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Ashe can still feel the solidity of Dedue’s armor, of Dedue’s sturdy chest against his as he gathered him close at Myrddin, can still hear the unwavering beat of his heart. Can feel his heavy hands, a little shy, a little uncertain, coming to rest warm on his back.Ever since Dedue's been back, Ashe has been... distracted.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 16
Kudos: 147





	insomniac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chryselis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryselis/gifts).



The moon hangs heavy and full, centered in Ashe’s window, and he cannot sleep. 

It’s not that it’s too bright--ever since childhood, Ashe shrank from dark places, from total silence. The thrumming of life outside his bed, the milk-gentle light of the moon are nothing but comforting, lulling in their own way.

Instead, it’s... hm. Ashe shifts between worn sheets, ducks his head into his flattening pillow. Forces his eyes shut, flutters them open again.

He really ought to be--satisfied. Still, abiding in the joy of it, ought to be resting serene with the relief.

Dedue is _back._ Back, alive, and while Ashe cannot exactly say he’s in one piece, that there isn’t a scratch on him... he is as whole as any of them. As gentle and steady and sure-footed as he can be, given everything.

Ashe can still feel the solidity of Dedue’s armor, of Dedue’s sturdy chest against his as he gathered him close at Myrddin, can still hear the unwavering beat of his heart. Can feel his heavy hands, a little shy, a little uncertain, coming to rest warm on his back.

It’s been nearly a fortnight, now, and the sensation of it still lingers, hovers in a cloud about Ashe’s body, settles back onto him whenever he hears Dedue’s purposeful footsteps, catches the distant rumbling cadence of his voice. When he sees him, gets to speak with him, to ask him if he’s well.

If he needs anything--he always says no, but Ashe will always keep asking.

He’d been in the kitchen with Ashe, today, and it had been, if not just like their time as students, if not a little quieter, just as lovely. There was a certain--tranquility about him when he cooked that was infectious, that permeated the air alongside the aroma of toasting spices, the crackling of the fire.

They’d been making loaves upon loaves of bread, enough to fill every hard-laboring mouth at the monastery, but it didn’t _feel_ like work. The task had a familiar rhythm to it, something bone-deep in the both of them, almost meditative. The sun had been high when they’d gone into the kitchen and low when they came out, and they’d barely even noticed.

And, well--Dedue may well have been focusing entirely upon his work, but Ashe...

His eyes had been on Dedue all afternoon, stealing sheepish glances, studying the soft concentration that settled into the lines of his face. The movement of his muscles as he kneaded endless balls of dough, the way his weight bore down against the countertop.

With the phatom feel of Dedue against him, with the exerted quickening of their breaths, the glint of sweat on his brow, it was almost real. Like a memory, some dream of being beneath Dedue, back flat on this mattress, these threadbare sheets against his skin.

Ashe sighs, curls around himself, nestles his flaring cheek into a cool patch on the pillow. It came so easily to him, the image of Dedue’s gentle face over his, of those broad, careful hands lifting Ashe’s nightshirt over his head. Of the blush he would wear, of heavy lids and long white lashes over adoring eyes.

The working of those same kneading muscles, biceps and shoulders and upper back bracing against the mattress, against Ashe’s own hands as he’d guide their bodies together, pressed himself between the softest, most sensitive parts of Ashe’s wiry thighs. _Inside_ him, perhaps, easing him open with thick, axe-callused fingers, searching softly, stroking over his sweet spot...

And he’d speak to him, Ashe could only imagine, could only hope that he’d whisper to him, breath warm and vital against his ear, and tell him--kind things. That he was good, beautiful, _loved,_ even. And Ashe would revel in it, take the words as they were, because Dedue was no man for platitudes.

Ashe--shivers, even in the stagnant warm summer air, even nested in the bedclothes he trembles, and squints his wet eyes and _aches._ Can hear his own pulse rushing in his ears, feel it throb between his thighs.

And sighs once more, soft, suddenly quite aware that Dedue’s room is only one stone wall away. Flops, resigned, onto his back, sweaty hand skating down his chest, slipping under his clothes.

He knows, even as he curls his fingers where they’re needed, that this won’t be enough. That he’ll sweat and squirm and shake, that he’ll sate himself as well as he can, but that he’ll fall asleep still wanting, still wishing for those hands, that warm wall of a body against him.

Knows that, if he can muster up the courage, he won’t have to keep wishing forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Chrys--and all of y'all--I really hope you liked this!
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think, and come chill with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like!


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